


you’re gonna bruise, too

by sosojiwa



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, Domestic Violence, Happy Ending, I swear, Its nice, M/M, Verbal Abuse, but a tad bit Not Rad, melchior gets Whacked by sonnenstitch, ok idk how to tag this one y’all, read it please - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 22:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17906510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosojiwa/pseuds/sosojiwa
Summary: in which yet another day of puzzling over latin with herr sonnenstich is made interesting by one curly haired gabor standing up for a fellow classmate, effectively throwing off the viscious cycle of moritz’ daily verbal beration by seemingly everyone and making the boy wonder— why would he do such a thing for me?





	you’re gonna bruise, too

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello!
> 
> originally this was a small 1k word thing that i began just because i wanted to write a scenario where melchior stood up for moritz but i never finished it, so i took it upon myself to write it to completion this week! gosh im so proud of how it came out, and i hope you are too!!
> 
> (edit— my original proofreading skim was done at 12 am when i was really tired and i reread this for reference for moritz’ parents and i realized— yes, oVER A MONTH AFTER I ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IT— just how many mistakes i missed LMAO so hi i fixed all of that and made some of the sentences stronger,, ur welcome)

“It is very foolish of you, Herr Stiefel, to expect myself and the rest of your classmates to dawdle as we wait for you to properly learn the pronunciation of this writing. I am asking for you to recite the beginning of this piece and you cannot even do that in spite of the fact we have been reading along for nearly three weeks now! It is completely and utterly embarrassing for us all— myself, yourself, your peers and those in your family— to have to deal with your utter incompetence! What have you to say for yourself, Herr Stiefel?”

The words of Herr Sonnenstich sliced through the growing tension within the classroom like a knife through butter, and the boy in question tensed up in his seat, uneasy from both the harsh reprimand and the new, unwelcome feeling of five pairs of eyes plastered on his timid form. The room was still, save for the impatient tapping of the older man’s foot against the floor and the ragged breathing of the young boy (though to him, the classroom was spinning and blaring at him with alarm and disappointment— an overwhelming mess which rendered him on the urge of an ugly breakdown).

“Well, Herr Stiefel? What have you to say for yourself?” prodded the older man once more, stepping away from the boy’s desk for but a moment, returning quickly with his beloved teaching switch and a wicked snarl etched on his face. The tall-haired boy couldn’t,  _ couldn’t, _ bring himself to respond and he could feel his face begin to burn with an ugly mix of shame and embarrassment as hushed whispers began to rise in the air around him, the burning stares on his back never once dissipating.

_ “Herr Stiefel—!” _

“Herr Sonnenstich, my apologies, but is it not clear to you that the boy is merely unwilling or unready to give you a response? Is it not clear to you that perhaps some students may require a bit more finesse in their education to ensure they are kept with the pace of those around them? As a teacher, I’m certain it should be one of your primary goals to make sure each student is learning as they should instead of shaming and ridiculing one who falls behind— I beg for your sincerest forgiveness if you  _ aren’t  _ supposed to catch students up instead of leave them behind.” came the hiss of a familiarly strong voice alongside the screeching of a chair and shuffling. All eyes in the room shifted their gaze to the brunette, and the air within the room seemed to grow impossibly thicker.

His gaze on his instructor faltered for just a moment as his mind prepared a few more daggers for the tossing. “Perhaps it is foolish of you and not of Moritz to assume that we all will dawdle around and watch our classmate suffer in due to your poor instruction. Pardon my, as you once said,  _ irrational thinking, _ but the language of Latin is dying, and Virgil  _ has _ died, and so none of us truly know how the works are supposed to be read and the words to be pronounced,” continued he, mockingly in the following addition, “Well, Herr Sonnenstich? What have you to say for yourself?”

A few chuckles floated into the air at the last statement, and a smirk began to play at the lips of the brunette. There was something he just found to be so exhilarating in bringing the elders off of their high horses, something even more thrilling than that in defending his classmates— though, he supposed that if the person under fire from their Latin instructor were to be anyone else, he wouldn’t have stepped in like he had now.

An enraged expression was scribbled across the face of Sonnenstich now as he strode over to the desk of the brunette, each step he took echoing throughout the classroom and making him seem thrice more menacing in his actions. The student didn’t falter, only standing taller as his instructor drew nearer and nearer, the switch held so tightly in his hand that his knuckles began to shift to a ghastly white colour.

The sound of the instrument smacking against the torso of the student was swift and loud, everyone in the room (save for Sonnenstich) flinching at the sound. Across the brunette’s face came a splay of emotion which all disappeared within a fraction of a second, the faltering in his stance from the impact immediately being corrected, for the facade he held in this moment was so well-constructed that he wouldn’t dare let it topple over in due to a hit. He had endured worse in his life.

“And Herr Gabor, may I ask you what exactly gives you the right to think you are in the liberty to speak out against me? What gave you the insane thought that you could dare disrespect an adult and his profession? What gave you the damned idea that it would be wise of you to open your mouth in this moment? You may be an excellent scholar, but that doesn’t mean a thing if the words you spew are absolutely putrid and utterly harmful. I  _ refuse _ to tolerate such disrespect in my classroom!” The words flowed from the man’s mouth with the most pungent anger any of the boys had ever heard, each of his sentences being punctuated by the sharp and swift sound of the instrument, said frustrations he held ending in yet another  _ crack!  _ of the switch against the chest of the brunette, “Do I make myself clear,  _ Melchior Gabor?” _

“Yes, of course, Sonnenstich,” responded the boy bitterly, narrowed eyes locked onto those of the irate man opposite him, the four words dripping so strongly with sarcasm that his classmates were biting back their amusement. He risked a quick glance over at Moritz, a wave of relief and feeling of  _ this was so worth the trouble _ washing over his being as he was met by a kind, grateful smile by the tall-haired boy.

“I don't see as to why you seem to insist on being so formal in conversation with me, sir.” Snickers arose in the air, which were quickly silenced by a displeased hiss and what seemed like the thousandth crack of the switch in that hour, rapidly succeeded by another, and another and another… until the brunette was reduced to a quivering mess where he stood, chest heaving and pulsating in due to the blossoming pain that began to build up and grow with each crack of the teaching stick.

Tears were threatening to spill from the boy’s eyes but he could not find it within himself to back down, even with the way his peers began to glance away out of sheer discomfort, the way Moritz began to fidget uncomfortably in his seat but never once tore his eyes away from the scene, and the way Sonnenstich looked upon his figure with such resentment and irritation. He could not find it within himself to fold back into his seat at a moment such as this, even with how his chest begged for salvation and his lungs began to struggle to pull in air. 

“Melchior Gabor for the last time,  _ DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” _ came the irate shout of the Latin teacher, his dark eyes swirling with such a mangly mix of vile emotions that the aforementioned boy could not stand to return his gaze. The shout brought forth the quiet movement of chairs and shifting of clothes in due to being caught so off guard by the yell, startled gasps and frenzied whispers beginning to form amongst the students, utter stupor found in their hushed voices.

The boy's jaw set, unresponsive.

He winced upon the sharp sensation of the switch once again striking against his chest in yet another act of fury guised under the veil of student discipline. A shaky breath escaped his lips now as his instructor's gaze never once let up on his quivering figure, each and every one of his brain cells beginning to focus on keeping from loosening in his resolve and hunching over in pain as well as biting back his tongue, so desperate to keep words of such bitter, poisonous nature from spilling from his lips and cause himself to get into worse trouble than he was now.

A malevolent chuckle bubbled in the throat of Sonnenstich upon watching the brunette flinch and brace himself as the switch nearly smacked against his torso once more, though he had stopped it before it had made contact, instead gently placing it there and trailing it up and up until it reached the boy's chin. He applied enough pressure as to where it caused the brunette to tilt his head upward and finally meet his rather intimidating gaze.

"Herr Gabor, I will not allow you to ever make me lose my temper in a way such as that again or else things will end up drastically worse for you, so I’d strongly advise for you to keep your lips closed and thoughts on my teachings to yourself," he said now, voice hushed and hardly above a whisper now, "Herr Knochenbruch and his associates see you as an excellent scholar, though they do believe your outstanding wits and smarts are being dulled down by that lackluster, utterly incom— er, your pupil,  _ Moritz Stiefel. _ Do not let a young man of your caliber be brought down by one such as  _ him.” _

He then strode away from the paled Melchior, now saying to the class: "Well then, as one of your blundering pupils has decided to disrespect me in such a manner and take up the remaining time we had in the class, you are to report here at seven in the morning on Monday having memorized the lines mentioned at the beginning of the period as well as having your speculations on the work written down. Additionally, allow today to serve as a fair warning as to what could could become of you if any of you ever choose to show such cheek to me. Clear away your personal effects and be sure to turn in the work you've completed today when we meet again on Monday. Dismissed."

The boys all clammered to a stand, chairs screeching and awkward shuffling filling the room as they began to gather their things and place them into their satchels as quickly as they could, so desperate to escape from the room. A certain brunette could hardly lean down to grab his belongings and tuck them away within his bag, the tender bruises that were beginning to form on his chest greatly hindering his ability to move. 

The tall-haired boy he had just defended materialized at his side, face flushed and with things sticking out haphazardly from his own bag. Melchior glanced at him with a small smile which quickly turned into a grimace as he attempted once more to grab at his things, and the noirette couldn't help but feel an overwhelming wave of remorse and regret crash over his being. Perhaps if he could properly process the Latin, or if he actually chose to stay awake in this cursed class instead of sleeping for once, he could have spared his best friend the wretched beating he just faced!

"Melchi, I… please, allow me. It's the least I can do after subjecting you to that horrific act!" Moritz said softly yet fervently, bending his legs down into a crouching stance and gathering the boy's satchel and books as quickly as he could, handing all of them off to their owner so that he could sort them out himself. He was met by a thankful expression which soon dissipated as the boy turned to focus on gently putting his satchel on across his chest and putting his books into it in a much more organized way than Moritz had.

They walked out of the classroom together as they always did, though the air betwixt them was void of the regular comfort and joy they exuded whilst around each other. Now it was filled with nothing but the chatter of the students they passed by and later, the sweet chirping of the birds who had yet to migrate in due to the shifting weather. Occasionally, Melchior would cling to the noirette’s arm for stability or let out a small gasp of pain.

The noirette found himself lost in thought as they walked around the familiar streets of their small little town, mind aflame with worry and wonderance as his best friend trudged along beside him. Each glance he risked at him painted him in regret; the brunette’s face was paled and his eyes were full of agony he was struggling to keep contained; the corners of his lips curling downward into the beginning of a frown and his brows were creased ever so slightly, the expression reminiscent of the look he would adopt whenever he was concentrated and/or frustrated on something.

Moritz normally found the boy’s look of concentration to be interesting, captivating and so utterly  _ Melchior  _ that he would spend a minute or two simply observing the brunette as he puzzled over whatever was in his mind, though he now couldn’t find it within him to drink in the intricacies that composed his best friend. Looking at him now would cause so much to flare up within him, and he couldn’t bear to feel such wretched emotions at a time like this. He refused to be met in the face by the multiple haunting phantasms which plagued his mind!

Horrific thoughts of regret and anger began to push to the forefront of his mind despite his best efforts to suppress them and keep them from flaring up. He couldn't help but feel angry with himself for making such simple, petty mistakes over subject matter that they had been discussing for weeks in class, making such mistakes despite having conjectured over conjunctions in the foreign tongue for hours at home, making such mistakes despite having slaved over deciphering the journey of aeneas alongside his fellow students and asking them for their input, help and own theorems! Perhaps if he hadn't been such an airhead and actually retained the knowledge he acquired through such studying, he wouldn't have gotten Melchior beaten in such a harsh way by Herr Sonnenstich!

Perhaps if he hadn't found himself so petrified when called upon for a response he could've circumvented that entire ordeal (though, he supposed that he wouldn't have been able to find it within himself to respond even if he was allowed all of the time in the world to do so). The thoughts that had ran through his mind at that moment had rendered him a fool, useless in his own body for a small moment in time as the increasingly impatient prodding of his teacher as thoughts he had always tried to prevent from resurfacing began to rise to the forefront of his mind; the same feeling of utter powerlessness being instilled into him with the first, initial chilling crack of the switch against Melchior's chest in due to—

_ ("Elisabeth my dear, do not be so foolish and oblivious to such important matters! I am by no means in the wrong for insisting upon properly disciplining our child! I have told you once and I am not reluctant in telling you once more that I played as much as a role as you did in bringing our son into this god-forsaken earth, and so I also have a say in how we are to raise and treat him! Think not of how discipline will impact him in moments such as these, think of how it will impact us! _

_ "The Rilow children are as arrogant as their father and yet as silver-tongued and reserved as their precious mother; little Wendla and her elder sister were both raised in the blanket of eloquence and naivete provided from their mother and the both of them will serve to be wonderful wives later on in their lives and bore beautiful children of their own; and goodness, the Zirschnitz' have already paved the way for their young one to grow into an incredibly talented and handsome pianist! _

_ "Oh, and lest not forget of the Gabors’ beautiful child! It’s a blessing from the lord that Melchior has chosen to bide his time with our pitiful son; he's a year younger than our child and yet he's much more driven and motivated than ours is, not to mention how much of an exempt scholar that child is!" came the rant of one Herr Stiefel, his words echoing harshly throughout the walls of the home. The hour was late, and Moritz' parents always discussed such matters whenever they thought him to be adrift in some silly childish dream, though their son always laid awake instead, mind adrift with thoughts of things much too existential for a boy of his age to ponder. _

_ These ‘discussions’ always evolved into arguments, though they rarely got as heated and blown up as this one had. The topic on which they covered varied from time to time. One day, the Frau and Herr could take to debating whether or not to to visit a family member out in Munich because their daughter was starting to bloom and the family decided to hold a special party for her, and spend another hollering words of frustration at one another, finding the day to be stressful enough to build the need to get everything out no matter the method. Occasionally, though, when their son began to stumble in school or do something the mighty Friedrich Stiefel didn’t quite agree with, they would take to discussing his actions at night when they assumed he couldn’t hear their thoughts on him. _

_ The young Moritz wracked his mind for an idea as to what exactly he had done wrong today to cause his father to explode in this way, and even with his best effort, he couldn’t think of any specific despicable deed he had committed during the day that would upset his father. In fact, he had actually accomplished some things that he assumed that his father would be quite pleased to hear, such as the fact that he had managed to ace a test on some new mathematical concept (all in thanks to Melchior, who ironically scored a few points lower than Moritz despite being the one who had to re-teach him the lesson in more understandable terms).  _

_ He could hear his mother and father continuing their increasingly heated conversation, though now they spoke in more conservative, hushed voices. He could hear the tired mumbles of his mother and the baritone of his father echo throughout the house though he could not make out a word they were saying, the words which fell from their lips slurring and blending together into an incoherent mess to his tired ears.  _

_ He wondered if Melchior ever had to bear witness to a discussion like this. He had always seemed to grow meek and reserved when questioned by one of their peers about the happenings of his father, instead choosing to chatter shyly about Fanny as if he had mistaken them for saying ‘mother’. Perhaps discussions like this attributed to why his father refused to be around the Gabor household longer than absolutely necessary; last Moritz had heard, the Herr had taken to some busy job in Munich, and the women gossiped of him even catching a mistress of some sort whilst off. _

_ He once asked Melchior about the topic, figuring that since he was about a week over being ten and Moritz was a little over eleven, they would be mature enough to discuss such matters with one another. He was only met by a hushed response and a reserved eye, the brunette saying in turn, “Moritz, my father is the reason why I’ve worked so hard in school. He said I would never live up to his greatness, not even in the slightest. I never once cared to be a scholar until he started to stray away farther and farther from mama and I, and I’ve always assumed it was because of me.” _

_ It had been nearly a year now since they held that rather emotional conversation with one another and Moritz was beginning to think that Melchior hadn’t been the only one cursed with a bad father. Martha Bessell seemed to have a limp in her step some days and refused to go out of the house without a long sleeved dress or arm-covering garment of some sort; the rumours surrounding Ilse were that she had acted out against her father one night in an act of fright and ran out, not returning to the Neumann household for nearly a week; the father of the Rilow siblings seemed decent enough, though he was a very mysterious figure in the lives of both his kids and in the gossipy ones of the lives of his fellow adults, the occasional freaky accusation concerning him floating into the air for but a moment, when it was suddenly silenced as if it was never whispered before. _

_ Now, even Moritz had slipped into believing his father didn't much care for him! If he were to be completely honest with himself, he couldn't pinpoint an exact turning moment in his relationship with his father that made them slip into such a territory in which Moritz began to feel unsafe and worrisome about every aspect of his life in due to the thoughts of his father. Maybe it happened during the phase in life where each child was beginning to blossom into their own person and their individual wits and weaknesses were beginning to be revealed— yes, a plausible theorem indeed! He could remember the way in which his father conversated with his teacher from yesteryear, Moritz being the topic of discussion. He could remember how disappointed his father had seemed upon discovering his son's mind was nowhere near as sharp as that of Melchior's! _

_ As they all grew older and slowly crept their way into each upper grade, the easily dismissed mistakes and childish happiness of their single-digits were beginning to be frowned upon, the new, odd presence of adolescence not being what any of them had expected to deal with as they aged. On some day in March, Otto showed up to school with a face that was spotted with an odd array of red dots, many of the boys staying away from him until they began to realize, that this must be all apart of growing up once they found that their faces began to be painted in a similar fashion; a sunny day during the summer of that same year was spent at the creek, all of the children joyous yet observant of the way their voices started to deepen, take note of the peculiar lumps which had begun to form on the chests of Ilse and Martha (and about a month later, fright at the shrill scream of Wendla  upon seeing a trail of blood run down her leg). _

_ Oh, how he longed to return to those days of utter bliss! Now he could hardly wrap his mind around how to properly utilize a semicolon in a sentence, how to properly construct a formal essay, or even how to write his name in a somewhat decent script! He also could hardly bear the harsh words that now began to flow so quickly and violently from his father's lips, causing him to feel so benign and dejected in turn, and god, he wished to be a silly seven-year old again and not have to worry about whether or not he had memorized the latest section of an old Greek epic! _

_ Ripping him from his precious recollections of much fonder times and wishes he so desperately wanted to be reality was the sudden scream of his mother, the words that fell from her lips so incoherent that he hadn’t a clue if she even tried to speak a sentence in that outburst. The air within the house shifted into a tone so tense that it was even uncomfortable for Moritz to bask in despite being tucked away in his room.  _

_ As if his body was moving on autopilot, he slid out of bed and blunk away any sleepiness that may have been in his eyes. He immediately began to miss the warmth his thick covers provided him, the chilled air of the early spring quickly clinging to any exposed piece of flesh it could find on his person, effectively sending a shiver down his spine. His nightgown was made out of some thin material and was a bit too big on him, and so as his feet began to carry him toward the door, he felt goosebumps begin to arise on his skin as the frigid air began to seep through that, too. _

_ He slowly twisted his door open, determined not to make any loud sound as he made his trek over to the stairway, the familiar voices of his parents growing louder and louder as he neared them. _

_ “...and you have the nerve to say such things about the son I bore? Friedrich, the words you speak are filled with utmost nonsense, and I haven’t a clue as to what’s giving you the idea that I will sit here and tolerate your disrespect of our son! Hold your tongue for a moment, dear one, and do not paint me in the spitting image of a she-devil at this moment in time, for I am not alone in being courageous enough to speak out against her husband to defend her own child! The words you speak about Moritz are utterly vile, and I cannot—!” _

_ As soon as Moritz had neared the bottom of the stairs and poked his head around the corner, his mother was abruptly cut off by the sound of skin slapping against her cheek, her sentence ending with an unpleasant shriek falling from her lips. He quietly continued his descent and tip-toed his way across the wooden floors, his lanky figure shrouded in shadow as he crept to a better vantage point, though his eyes never once strayed away from the sight which played out before him. He watched in silence as his mother crumpled to the floor and grasped at her cheek, mouth agape at the man she once considered her soulmate. _

_ “Elisabeth… do not play me for a fool when I say that I love you,” said he to the disheveled form of his wife, voice tired and heavy with a dozen emotions as he spoke, “But I will not be spoken to like that by anyone, regardless of whom it is. I especially will not tolerate such disrespect from my wife, and if I need to teach you such a thing, then so be it. Our son is nothing more than a blundering idiot who will grow to be nothing more than a shell of a man, others pitying him and giving him odd jobs just so he can scrape by. It would be a divine miracle if Fanny's child teaches our son a thing or too— and it would be a divine miracle if you stopped basking in her presence so much. I bet she's the cursed individual who taught you to speak out with such lip, hum!" _

_ "Do not speak such wretched things about Fanny! She is one of the strongest individuals I’ve had the pleasure to meet, and she's plenty stronger than you are, Friedrich! She would never dare to lay a hand on another just for voicing their—" she flinched as she watched her husband raise his hand again, poised for the striking. The scene was so dark and uncomfortable for Moritz to bear witness to, the few small candles strewn throughout the room harshly shedding their light upon the figure of his father and making him seem thrice more menacing. _

_ "Papa, stop!" _

_ All silent. _

_ "Moritz, go back to bed," his mother ordered gently. Before she could continue on, his father interjected, his head sharply turning to meet the gaze of his son who slowly approached, gaze hateful and voice growing increasingly loud, "Yes, do go lay your pitiful head upon your pillow and rest, my son. Delight me and actually do something I’ve asked of you— make your damned father proud of you. I haven't a clue as to why your mother is so defensive of you, but there is the slightest, slightest chance that she's correct in her thinking and you may actually blossom into a diligent young man— but for now, all I see in you is a failure.") _

—painful memories once again making themselves apparent in his mind. If he were to be entirely truthful, the last time someone had dared to speak out against someone above them in status and strength and take some form of harsh reprimand in turn was the time his mother had dared to lose her temper with his father (though after that day, she closed herself off into nothing more than a meek housewife, never again daring to contradict her husband's upset ranting about his son out of fear that she would once again be belittled for her input).

He hoped Melchior wouldn't turn into a recluse like his mother had in due to the events. Watching her submit on that night would forever be burned into his mind, though now the recent memory of having to bear witness to yet another loved one stand up for his foolish deeds was much more pungent than that and he so desperately hoped that this event wouldn't have results like the other. He had been berated so much more by his father, though never once physically touched by him, in the days since then and had to watch with an odd combination of resentfulness and regret as his mother simply turned a deaf ear to the hurtful words her husband spewed so carelessly. Maybe if he hadn't been born as such a failure, as his father would say, he would still… 

He forced down those thoughts as he saw the familiar Gabor house begin to grow in his vision and a small smile painted itself on his face as he could already begin to imagine the smell of the fresh food Fanny had prepared for Melchior's return intermingling with the cozy scent of the home, the few notes of cherry wood and air-dried clothing perky and clear in the air. He was always delighted whenever he made a visit to the home; the Gabors had always felt so much more like home to him than his actual family had in recent years.

"Thank you for walking me, Moritz, but if you have anything else to attend to, please feel free to go," said Melchior as they drew closer to the front of the house, offering a shy smile to his friend. They stood there for a moment beside each other, staring at the lone, small tree that was on the front yard. The wind gently hummed along, softly whipping their hair about and taking a few of the colour shifting leaves from the tiny tree along with its westward draft, and in the moment they felt so utterly content beside one another that neither boy could even bother to move or speak.

"Oh, no, Melchior! You know I’d always be more than delighted to come inside and spend a few moments with you and say hi to your mother— and I believe it would be best if I stayed long enough to at least see to your chest. It's only fair," he replied, his words breaking the comforting silence betwixt them and making reality set back into its place over either of their lives as they started up the walkway and eventually reached the door. Melchior was first to step inside, loudly announcing his arrival to his mother, but was met by no response from her, and so he called her name again, brow raising.

"I’m cooking, Melchior! Head on up to your room, child, and I’ll be up soon with a snack to get you going," she called out after a long moment, and the aforementioned boy let out a breath of relief. He nodded at Moritz and they made their way toward the flight of stairs which the two of them had navigated hundreds of times before. The scent of the upper portion of the house smelled strongly of well-loved books and the crisp autumn air, all undoubtedly in due to Melchior's room, which was strewn with an endless number of books and journals— plus, the boy much enjoyed having his windows cracked open whilst he worked at his desk.

As soon as they reached his bedroom, they quickly discarded their satchels onto the floor and let out sighs of relief, happy to finally have rid of the heavy bags. "Melchior, would you mind ridding of your shirt?" asked Moritz as they began to make themselves comfortable. He glanced at the brunette out of the corner of his eye and watched his face shift, fall and perk up all in the same second at such a command and he felt his own face catch on fire, "No! Not that I’m saying— oh, heavens!"

A chuckle bubbled from the brunette's throat, though he found himself coughing a bit as he neared the end of his little spout of laughter and he cleared his throat, "I think it would be best if I didn't, Moritz. You can hardly stand to see Ernst sad over Hanschen not offering him to study a bit of Greek with him, and I doubt you'll be able to stand to see what Sonnenstich has made of my chest."

The noirette's lips curled downward into the beginnings of a frown and he took a few uncertain steps toward Melchior, setting a gentle hand onto the boy's chest once he had reached him. Begrudgingly, the younger looked up to meet his gaze after a moment or two of basking in the comforting, yet slightly painful feeling that the hand evoked within him and allowed a tired breath to escape from his slightly cracked lips. Melchior nodded slowly after yet another handful of seconds passed them by and the tall-haired boy stepped away from him, his hand taking a moment to fall back to his side as he took to closely watching his friend as he discarded his shirt.

Watching Melchior strip off the clothes which covered his torso was a sight that made him feel sinful, yet he could not help the butterflies which began to gather in his stomach as he watched the sunlit brunette undo his dark school blazer and discard it onto the ground. It reminded him of that blessed day of a few weeks ago in which he had been shown so many wonderful, yet overwhelmingly confusing feelings through touch and he couldn't help but long to once more feel such things in due to Melchior!

Despite how quickly he had ran out after being introduced to such questionable feelings, they still lingered within him in a small bubble of curiosity and genuine want— but it must be wrong to feel such intoxicating feelings toward another male, for it doesn't align with the bible in the slightest! Oh, how he wished it weren't wrong for a man to love another in moments such as this where the brunette made do with his clothing at such a tantalizing pace that he just wanted to walk over and—!

_ "Melchior!" _

The shriek fell from his lips with complete and utter surprise at the sight of his barren torso. They had changed before each other many times before and never once found an ounce of oddity in the deed, though the shirtless sight which now greeted him differed so greatly from all of the others he had seen. Instead of the boyishly pale, lightly freckled bodice he was so used to seeing, there was an unsightly yellowish-purple patch of skin between his pecs. It looked gruesomely tender and sore, the edges of the bruise still a bright red from all of the irritation from his clothing and from how hard he was struck by the switch.

Tears began to brim in Moritz' eyes as he simply stood there, hands clasped over his mouth and breath beginning to quiver as he basked in the gnarly sight of the bruise. The brunette stood there, too, goosebumps beginning to appear on his flesh as the coolness of the room began to get to him, and he couldn't seem to bring himself to meet the gaze of his friend anymore. His dark eyes were now glued to the floor, within them swirling a plethora of emotions that he would most likely express later through one of his two dozen journals.

Moritz shakily backed away from the brunette and took a seat on the bed, body quivering with shame and self-hatred. He was the reason why Melchior was in such a state and he couldn't bear to see his best friend with such an ugly marking on his body with the knowledge that he was the reason why it was there. He couldn't bear to think of how foolish he was for being unable to stand up for himself and have the brunette do it instead— though, he supposed the boy did do it out of his own free will, so perhaps..?

The shorter boy sighed and dropped his shirt on the floor before slowly walking over to Moritz, the sky which had began to shift colours outside painting his figure in a multitude of beautiful colours, all of which didn't seem to dull down the sheer grossness which radiated from the bruise on his chest. He sat down beside him, the bed gently creaking from the additional weight and the two simply sat there for a moment, and all was silent, save for the shaky breaths that Moritz took. The brunette had raised a cautious hand in attempt to place it on the boy's shoulder, but he was interrupted from such an attempt by Moritz grabbing it from the air and gripping it tightly, tears spilling from his eyes as he rubbed slow circles on the back of his hand.

"Oh, Melchior, I can't believe you would do such a thing— and for me, of all people!" he whispered to him with a trembling voice, the chirping of the few birds outside and the faint rustle of the wind filling the silence between them as he tried to recompose himself enough to continue, "Why? Why would you allow yourself to take the fall for my own mistakes, Melchi? You are much too brilliant and wonderful to let yourself fall subject to things I deserve because of my utter stupidity. I deserved the reprimand and anything else Herr Sonnenstich would've said or done, not you. You didn't deserve to get beaten, you didn't… why would you ever..?"

His grip on the brunette's hand tightened.

"Moritz, have you ever considered that it may be because I care for you?" responded Melchior after a fruitless attempt of trying blink away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. The noirette's gaze flickered over to study his face in a search for any trace of deceit, but his search came up empty, instead finding the utmost notes of sincerity and affection there in his sharp features, "You don't deserve to be berated by anyone, Moritz, and I mean that with every ounce of affection and sincerity I have within me. It truly does break me to overhear your father berate you or draw disgusting comparisons whenever I go over, and it leaves such an ill taste in my mouth whenever the harsh words of our professors are practically told to you as if they are the biblical truth! Moritz, you are most certainly too lovely to be subject to such things!

"Perhaps you may not see things like I do, as you're painted as such a kind, interesting individual. You're incredibly handsome and intelligent in your own right— it may not be the conventional intelligence that people such as Sonnenstich and your father recognize, but rather, wits involved with the fine arts. Your artwork is so fascinating and just so stunning that it takes my breath away whenever I see something you've created, and lest not forget of the occasional poetry you scribble down in my journals! It's so utterly marvelous, Moritz, and I haven't a clue as to what words I should use to describe you other than just so, so brilliant!"

And at that moment, all seemed to click into place in Moritz’ mind. The touchings from what seemed like yesterday were much too tender to be strictly instructional and felt too damn  _ natural _ to be the normal emotion elicited from any sort of ‘lesson’, how the two of them seemed to gravitate more and more toward each other and just be content in each others presence even when they exchanged so few words with one another, the way the noirette’s heart would begin to swell and his chest would start to constrict whenever he was able to bask in the glory of his best friend’s body whenever they changed in front of one another— it felt all too serene, yet sinful to just be their same old friendship.

The tears Moritz shed began to flow faster, though they now became tears of joy and contentment as he turned to face Melchior, silly laughter beginning to escape from his lips. Puzzled, the brunette watched him, yet a delicious chuckle began to blossom from him, too, as the laughter was just so blissful and infectious he couldn’t help himself. The puzzled quirk and creasing of his brows were still there as he laughed, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as tears began to escape freely from them as his chest heaved with his laughter and the noirette just found it so attractive, and he couldn’t help but move closer, closer, and closer still…

Their lips connected in a moment of passion, and everything in their small town seemed to grow silent, and yet, so loud. The wind whispered to the large oak tree outside of Melchior’s window, making its remaining leaves rustle ecstatically at the sight of the boys; the smell of whatever Fanny was cooking downstairs seemed to heighten the utterly intoxicating aroma which radiated from the brunette, the boyish mixture of bodily sweat and leather seeming so damned enchanting to Moritz. The setting sun painted the duo in a stunning array of hues from burgundy to gold, from teal to orange and in those fleeting seconds, they felt the same blissful happiness they once had in their youth.

“Herr Stiefel, a bruised chest doesn’t mean a thing to me as long as you allow me to love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> leave kudos and comments please, i thrive to see y’alls feedback on my work!  
> i hope u enjoyed this thing that i put together as much as i enjoyed writing it!! :)
> 
> (p.s. ive recently started to be active on tumblr, so please come be my friend!! i dont bite!! @springbutsummer!!)


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